Redd Gharrow stood along the railing, looking out over the trees far below, the light breeze rustling the leaves. It was a clear and sunny day, and a few monsters could be seen roaming in the distance. He currently stood on Floor 40 of the Obsidian Spire, which was the main Skyport. This was the largest gap between floors, with the Skyport reaching up multiple stories before Floor 41 began. The Spire was mostly square up until it got near the tip, where it twisted into a pointed tower. It reached nearly three thousand feet into the sky, and the top levels were reserved for nobles, corporation owners, and high-ranking members of the Guild of Geomancers, the ones who created the Spire centuries prior. The Obsidian Spire had a total of one hundred floors, with the Guildmaster having his own palace and Skyport on Floor 100.

The main Skyport down on Floor 40 had many pillars keeping the structure of the Spire sound, but was otherwise open to the outside. The largest support columns were in each of the four corners of the floor, as well as one in the very center, which also housed a series of lifts. Airships were always coming and going between the Obsidian Spire and the many other Spires spread around the world, and any incoming vessels had to radio ahead first to ensure a Landing Platform was available. These Platforms were all along the outer edge of the floor, on all four sides, and could only support smaller ships. The much larger airships instead hovered next to the Spire and send a smaller vessel to dock. The maximum capacity for the Skyport was sixty ships, and anyone using it had a forty-eight hour time limit to either depart the port or check the vessel into the vaults below on Floor 39. In the case of the latter, a large lift descended the ship to the floor below, where the vaults essentially acted as a parking garage. Once checked it, it was sometimes a long wait to get it back out, depending on how busy the Skyport staff was.

Redd watched as he saw the airships coming and goes, seeing his beauty, the Skyhawk sitting not far from him. The rail he had been looking over was there on Landing Platform 9, where his vessel was docked. A smile formed under his thick beard as a large direwolf with snow white fur came walking out of the ship.

The two of them strolled away from the platform towards the row of lifts on the central pillar. Soon they were inside and ascending to Floor 41, the Lower Market District. This too had open air like the floor below, but was nowhere near as tall, only covering maybe three stories. It had the same pillar placements, and right beyond the lifts was the Skyport Cantina, where people often relaxed while waiting for repairs on their vessels and refuelings to be conducted. Beyond the Cantina was a street-like network of huts, shops, stands, and merchant carts, with a large park area and fountain on the other side of the central pillar. Benches and picnic tables were spread about, as well as a few diners and food stands. There also stood a handful of pubs, but the Cantina was the most popular establishment.

Up on Floor 85 was the Upper Market District, but Redd had never been there as those levels were mainly for the nobles and elites. The residential floors up there were huge sprawling estates and private clubs. Down on the lower levels, the floors were usually small apartments and offices, with smaller market areas here and there for people who didn't want to go to the main Market Districts.

Redd and Ghost walked into the packed Cantina, finding a free table in the back. He ordered them some lunch, tossed a few coins to the delicious female elf waitress, a devoured his food. After the meal, he began asking around, inquiring about recruiting crew members for his ship. He decided his first priority should be to hire an engineer, as his own knowledge of the inner workings of ships was limited. So he set out asking for any leads on a qualified engineer seeking work, which led him to a young Half-Elf mechanic.

“So, I understand you're looking for work?” he asked with a grin, thinking the boy looked a bit cute. Soon he had gathered a handful of people and they all sat at a table. “We depart tomorrow morning at 9:00am. We'll be setting a course for the Ironwood Spire, where one of my contacts has a job for us. We'll get the details then. Any questions?”

It had been a long week for DJ. Not that he was worried about running out of funds. Three years without being allowed to go on shore leave when the Cloud Skipper docked at a spire had allowed him to amass quite a tidy savings. He had been staying at a very modest inn and doing his best to stretch his cash reserves as far as possible. Of course, finally being able to walk the markets of the Obsidian Spire, he had splurged on a complete restock of his supplies, plus a number of more exotic and esoteric materials that he had never worked with but had theoretic formulae worked up which needed them.

No, it wasn’t about money. It was boredom. Even the drudge work that he had engaged in as an apprentice occupied his mind between his lab sessions. Without access to a workshop, or even an idea when one might become available, his mind was in constant turmoil. He figured that securing work would be a much easier proposition; yet another thing he seemed to be hopelessly naďve about. So far he had had only one offer, and that was on a simple passenger ferry between here and the closest neighboring spire. Not exactly the life of adventure he had been hoping for all these years. Not to mention the captain of the vessel in question seemed to have died years ago and simply not been informed about his situation. DJ couldn’t imagine working for someone that boring. However, if things didn’t turn around, it looked like he wasn’t going to have much of a choice.

It was this stream of thoughts that kept him from noticing the small mountain of a man approach him. DJ was used to feeling slightly small around humans, just because of the elven part of his heritage and its effect on his physique, but this guy was an entirely different story. Processing his question after the slightest of pauses, DJ answered.

“Huh? Oh, I know drive systems, weapon systems, alchemical material alteration, weapons engineering…” DJ caught himself rambling. “Sorry, uh, yes I am,” then reflexively, “uh, sir.” DJ didn’t even call Grohash sir, but there was just something in this large man’s bearing that made it seem not only right, but necessary. DJ felt like he had made the right call when he noticed a slight grin beneath the big man’s impressive beard. It was only when the stranger cocked his head towards a table in the back and began walking that way did DJ notice the wolf. It had been watching DJ, not as an animal watching something that it didn’t understand, but in a way that made the young half elf almost feel llike he was being appraised by the beast. The fact that it followed the captain without any words exchanged both intrigued and unsettled the alchemist. What was he getting into?

After the rest of the crew had been gathered and the captain laid out the plan, DJ was pretty sure he was in over his head. There was something quietly intimidating about each of these new crew mates, but the half elf was determined not to let his nerves show.

“Uh, Captain? If we want to shove off in the morning, shouldn’t I get to work on the pre-voyage inspection? Familiarize myself with the systems and all? My old boss killed to say ‘Getting a boat in the air is like getting someone into bed, a little lube goes a long way and if you run into parts that weren’t expecting once you’ve started, things could get complicated,” Only then did DJ realize how that sounded, and in front of a bunch of people he barely knew. “Well, maybe it sounds better in dwarven, heh?” He hastily added, feeling a hot blush begin to creep into his face.

Redd looked at DJ with a straight face as he made his inappropriate comment, almost as if staring him down intensely. Then suddenly he tilted his head back and let out a roaring laughter. "Bahaha! I'll drink to that!" he cried and took a large gulp from his goblet of ale. "The mechanics at the port are making inspections and repairs, but if you like I'll take you down there after we're done here and you can acquaint yourself with my fine vessel, the Skyhawk."

(just a short post replying to DJ, will save the next long post for once the other characters are all involved)

On the other side of the table by necessity, a voluminous quantity of emerald fabric ate up three seats beneath its bulk, looking like nothing so much as an inordinately fancy robe. Knots, folds, and loops whorled through until there was no hope of following a single bolt, forming the world's most fashionable Gordian knot - yet each piece rides delicately on the air, aloft and attuned like a cat's whiskers.

"I will be glad to have your expertise between me and death by engine failure, serkonas," it rumbled. The voice is sonorous, hummed by a hundred winds passing between the sheets and strips; a beehive's melody in silk. "If we should embark together."

The fabric shifts and aligns itself towards Redd in a verdant tide, rolling with the breeze. "Captain, with your consent I would tend to rigging and sail. I also have some gift for reading weather imminent, should it prove so useful - and I am not, as one might guess, difficult to provide for."

There is an amused burble like the spatter of fresh bubbles, and metal tinkles, faint and chimelike, from the depths of the fabric, as wide as two men abreast.

"Either choice aside, I am Tatterdemalion. I beg pardon for an introduction late."

Claire had yet to find a "real" job. Sure, she had the occasional odd job, but nothing worth her time. Nothing worth any gold. She couldn't even rub two silvers together at the moment, and that was not a fact she was happy about. So when a mountain of a man told her to follow him for work, she did. Maybe following a man twice her size wasn't a great idea, but hey, work's work.

Claire didn't know exactly what a mercenary crew was supposed to look like, but she wasn't expecting this when she sat down. Sure, Redd looked the part, but she was pretty sure they'd need more than a teenage sorceress, a scrawny elf, and a... Talking tablecloth? She wasn't sure. But she was pretty sure this group wouldn't cut it. "Hey, I know I'm the junior member of the group, but doesn't it take, I don't know, a lot of guys to fly a ship? I don't know jack about air ships, so maybe I'm wrong, but if you're looking for a copilot or something, that's not me. I don't do 'labor. I shoot lightning," Claire arced a bolt of dark purple energy between her palms for emphasis, "And I'm very good at it. So if you need magic, and just magic, I'm in. But if you expect me to scrub poop decks, then I'm out." She said, folding her arms across her chest and looking up at Redd expectantly.

Redd watched Tatterdemalion speak, quite amused with everything about him. Known for speaking his mind and caring little for manners or verbal censors, he laughed and blurted out, "So, you got a cock attached to that tablecloth?" his laughter roared as he tilted his head back, then regained his composure as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "To answer your question -- yes, I agree you will look after the sails and keep us updated on any weather concerns."

He then turned as the young sorceress expressed her concerns. He couldn't help but smile as she talked, thinking how beautiful this young girl was. He struggled to pay attention to what she was saying while he undressed her in his mind and devoured that cute teen pussy. He silently wondered if any of her magical ability could be re-purposed for sexual fun. He was especially aroused when she crossed her arms and looked at him, not hiding that fact as he smiled at her.

"Don't worry, no poop decks for you, darling," he said with a grin. "We have enchanted automatons that take care of the cleaning. Your primary duties onboard the Skyhawk would be mostly combat related. Occasionally mercenaries like us are hired for extra security or training purposes, but the vast majority of missions people in our line of work get are usually assassinations, information gathering, and espionage type stuff. Sometimes it's debt collection for a crime boss or privateering for a client against an enemy Spire."

He looked around to see if they flinched when he mentioned the usual mission types, then addressed the entire group. "Before you enter this line of work, you need to leave your morality at the door. You will kill innocent people. You will work for crime bosses. You will defend your clients at all costs, even if they are drug cartels and slaver markets. You will do it because they are paying you a shit bucket of gold. I have amassed a considerable network of contacts and past clients over the years, and if you join my crew, you will never be out of work again. In fact, you can do what my last crew did -- they worked with me for a period of about five years and they made enough money to retire early with small fortunes."

He watched them as that sunk in. "If you come with me to meet my contact at Ironwood, by this time next week you'll likely each be sitting with a bag of gold in your laps. The usual protocol observed is that the client gives you half up front and half after the mission is complete."

He then realized he didn't answer the sorceress's other question. "Oh shit, forgot your other question -- yes, it will be fine with just us to run the ship. It's pretty smooth sailing as long as you have a good engineer looking after your vessel to keep her running. Keep her well-lubricated like a throbbing pussy. Or cock. Whatever reference you wanna use. Clits or dicks, whatever floats your boat! It pretty much all floats mine!" His laughter roared yet again, not the least bit remorseful that he had said some highly inappropriate comments.

"Well he certainly won't be welcomed in a court with those kind of analogies," Claire thought as she listened to Redd speak. This man didn't seem the least bit respectable or well mannered, but then again, a pirate didn't really have to be. "Well, as long as my robes stay on, and I'm payed 'shit buckets', I don't really mind what I have to do. I can't speak for the others, but I've killed before and I'll kill again. Just deliver on your promises of wealth, and my magic is yours," Claire said, extending her delicate hand to shake Redd's gigantic mitt.

He shook her hand and smiled at her comment. With a big grin and a cocked eyebrow, he asked, "So what would it take to get the robes off, then?" His smile grew bigger as he awaited her reply, not concerning himself with the reactions of the others at the table.

He shook her hand and smiled at her comment. With a big grin and a cocked eyebrow, he asked, "So what would it take to get the robes off, then?" His smile grew bigger as he awaited her reply, not concerning himself with the reactions of the others at the table.

Claire huffed and rolled her eyes. "Something a lout like you couldn't fathom. A polite and kind gentleman who treated me with respect. If you want a whore go find a tiefling to play grab ass with. If you want a sorceress you'll keep your comments and your leering to yourself. I'm to be an employee and nothing else. Understand?" Claire asked, half annoyed and half angry.

The way Tatterdemalion spoke reminded DJ of the older elves who taught the acolyte druids he had been forced to study with back at the Ironwood spire. It was… unsettling at the very least. But, then again, he assumed the captain knew what he was doing, so DJ wasn’t about to question the man.

The young sorceress was intriguing. DJ had been fascinated with arcane magic since he could read and was always slightly disappointed that he had no gift for it himself. However, the girl’s haughty tone was far too reminiscent of the elven nobles who were constantly looking down on him at home for him to delude himself that she might entertain even a few of his questions about casting. She was strikingly beautiful though….

As Captain Gharrow explained the likely nature of their work, DJ slightly nodded. He wasn’t at all surprised. He knew what he was likely getting into, and to his surprise, found really no qualms with the activities that were being described. However, as the captain took Grohash’s metaphor and ran with it off into the proverbial sunset, DJ barely managed to avoid spitting his mead across the table. What’s more, as the captain continued, he felt his cock begin to stir under his heavy work pants. "Come on, keep it professional", he thought to himself. Trying to focus and keep things under control, DJ started running gear ratio equations in his head.

A pursuit made all the more difficult when the sorceress and captain started discussing getting her out of her robes. Now all DJ could picture in his mind’s eye was the young spell caster using that purple lightning to make her clothes vanish. He wondered if she would be as smooth as the young elven maids he had taken into the grotto, eager to sate their curiosity about his decidedly un-elven male appendage. Or if perhaps the meticulous care she seemed to take with her appearance extended to what she kept hidden beneath her robes…

Trying to snap back into the conversation, DJ took a large gulp of mead. “Well, uh, captain. I should probably go down to the ship and get set up. I’m sure the crew at the port are doing a fine job, but I should get my tools stowed, my lab set up, and get to know the Skyhawk before she lifts off. As far as the job requirements, I don’t try to fool myself into thinking that the people at the tops of the spires got there with clean hands, or clean consciences. If we need to drop some bodies, I can do that. If we want to drop fewer bodies, I’ve got options for that too. Just say the word.”

"It did not come with the introductory package," Tatterdemalion replied, bells jangling amusedly in time with Redd's jovial laughter - which was not quite a no. "Yet captain, I imagine I will make do."

The mystic graces his magical counterpart with a single nod and a greeting - "morcannes", the Elvish word for firestarter, and not coincidentally very similar to their word for death - and focuses upon Redd instead. The empty gap of fabric in the robe's collar blinks at him, and a breeze busses its way over the smaller man.

"I care not for men's affairs," Tatterdemalion replies, flicking a sleeve. "I was made to fly. That which keeps me aloft is righteous."

His voice is absolute, the crack and rock of crossbeam and timber. Tatterdemalion was made to ride the sky; every second in this choked, chilly tower scalds his nerves. His is not the life of a rat in a cage, scrambling about for crumbs in the corners.

"I will lay my enemies to the talon, regardless of who they be. The firmanent is without mercy."

"Then we're all in agreement," Claire said, standing up from the table. "None of us seem to mind doing whatever it is that will need doing. So how about you escort us to your ship? I'd like to be paid sooner than later," Claire said, finishing her glass of wine before walking towards the bar's exit.

As DJ had chugged down the remainder of his mead in an effort to banish the images of the young sorceress from his mind, he put some coins on the table to cover the drink and tip and got up to follow her. "I should go get the rest of my gear before boarding," he said, by way of explanation. "I'll meet you down at the port. Can't think that there are that many 'Skyhawks' docked around the spire right now." And with that, he headed out to grab his wheeled trunk full of chemicals and half completed gizmos, settle up his room tab, and start off on a new leg of life's journey.

They all exited the bar, and soon everyone was gathered at Landing Platform 9, where the Skyhawk sat, suspended on a series of mechanical arms. The sails had a variety of forms at their disposal, mostly to change direction or speed. The main thrusters were powered by a Crystal Drive in the Engine Room, as were the Magicom consoles throughout the vessel.

Redd led them to a lift that extended downward from the bottom portside hull of the ship, pushing a button to retract it back upwards. Stepping off the lift, they came to a small hall, and he began giving them a tour of the vessel. He showed DJ the Engine Room, as well as the adjacent machine shop that would act as the young mechanic's office. There were also eight Life Pods, should the ship ever fall out of the sky.

"There are four crew rooms available," explained Redd as he showed them the residential area. "As you can see, they are labeled Rooms A, B, C and D on the doors. I'll leave it up to you to decide who gets what rooms. I have the Captain's Suite up by the Bridge. You can sleep here tonight or at the Inn, you're choice."

He continued the tour of the ship, including the Galley, the Crew Lounge, the Med Bay, and even the Hydroponics Bay on board, used to grow a variety of herbs and plants that were most definitely illegal in certain areas. A set of stairs from the Lounge led up to the Hangar Deck and down to the Cargo Hold. Although the Hangar was currently empty, it could house a smaller airship primarily used for short scouting missions and supply runs.

When touring the Bridge, Redd pointed out each of the consoles. "The primary one in the middle is my spot. The pilot's seat. The other two forward-facing stations also have flight and navigation controls. To the left with the blue circular screens is the Tactical Console, where the Turrets and Energy Cannons can be controlled should we fall under attack. The other station here to the right is the Communications Console."

He turned back towards the conference room outside the Bridge. "The table there is also equipped with a Magicom surface, allowing it to display information and statistics. Throughout this vessel you'll find a lot of technology a majority of the Spires don't have access to, such as the Cloaking Device and the Variant Sail Configuration System. Tatter, the sails can be operated from the navigation window on the console, or if you prefer you can go up and do it manually. Your call."

He laughed as they seemed a bit surprised by the sheer volume of advanced technology in place. "This ship was constructed by the Roth Imperium, a fierce military power that controls multiple Spires on the other side of the world. They very rarely travel the skies we're used to, but I did have a run in with one of their Admirals a few years back at a casino. The Skyhawk was his personal flagship, designed with top of the line materials and features to his exact specifications. It was his pride and joy, but he foolishly gambled and lost it during a game of Habacca. I had the better hand of cards and he was forced to turn over ownership of the Skyhawk to me, and it's been mine ever since."

He smiled as he reminisced about the old days, then shook his head. "Anyway, I'm going back to the tavern now. Do what you will, but we leave tomorrow morning at 9:00am. Any questions before I continue getting shit-faced drunk?"

It didn't take long for DJ to catch up with the rest of the group. He was running at almost a dead sprint while the others walked with less urgency. It was actually the white wolf that DJ had spotted first. DJ fell into line, slightly out of breath, behind the others as they boarded the Skyhawk, his wheeled trunk clanking and tinkling as numerous containers bounced against each other in their padded confinement.

DJ stared wide eyed at everything that Captain Garrow pointed out. When the cloaking device was mentioned, the young half elf couldn't help a slight "fuck me...." from escaping his lips. His mind was racing, cataloging everything and making a mental map of the ship in his head. The multiple sail configurations gave him pause. He only really had enough materials for one good batch of his Diamond Dip fabric treatment. That would take care of one set of sails and a few pieces of clothing if anyone were interested. Of course, his work gear had already been treated, so he wasn't worried about himself.

As the captain finished up, DJ volunteered, "Well, I'm going to spend the night getting set up. Lots to do it looks like. As for rooms, uh, I guess Lady's choice?" With that he looked at the sorceress deferentially.